Depth of Insanity
by Rickashay
Summary: A part of Harry's soul died in order to make room for Voldemort's horcrux, and so, he is partly dead. All he wants is to survive. Rated T, No Romance, Character Death, First Year


Disclaimer I do not own Harry Potter, only my dissatisfaction and imagination. That saying, I did take a lot from the book with the descriptions and some of the dialogue.

Title: Depth to Insanity

Word Count: 6,011

Rating: T

Warning(s): maybe some horror, character death, no romance, and child abuse

Summary: A part of Harry's soul died in order to make room for Voldemort's horcrux.

*Note* I used my Harry Potter book to get some dialogue for some of the characters to keep it as canon as possible. That saying, all of Harry's reactions are a bit different. Lots of the descriptions were also taken directly from the book, but I am not going to quote them exactly. I'll try my best to keep it as close to my writing as possible.

* * *

><p>They whispered sinisterly in his ear, saying sweet words of love and happiness. But he couldn't…it couldn't effect him. He was meant to be strong, powerful, show no weakness. He would not allow love and…care hinder that. The Dursleys' never had the most emotional capacity in the world, and so he was left alone. Alone in the darkest corners of his mind where all was silent, where he could retreat to, he allowed himself brief elapses of emotions. And so, he ignored the voices that whispered, sinisterly but sweetly, the lies.<p>

_Your parents died in a car accident._ A bright flash of green, red hair streaming down, down, _down, _cold high laughter, and a burning pain.

_You're just a freak._ He was not a freak…he couldn't be…he was just something…else.

_You'd never be better than Dudley. _If that was so, than there was no hope for mankind.

It had started in first grade that the teachers started to notice his behavior. They saw that Dudley had been a bully, but thought it was just a friendly rival between two children that had grown up together. It wasn't abnormal, just slightly disconcerting. Dudley was such a sweet child; he'd never become such a…bully. Beside the point, it had just been Harry. The boy was too quiet, never really speaking, never crying, even when they aimed for his face and kicked his sides, he made nary a sound. The boy was smart enough, had never really applied himself and yet he could be seen sitting at the library tables with an open book. Yet, he seemed unable to do the tests correctly or even answer a question without making a complete buffoon of himself. All the teachers eventually thought of him as a lost cause, after all, he was just…blank. He was so easily forgettable.

It came as a surprise to everyone when Harry had shone his first smile. Dudley had lost his temper through the middle of class and had shockingly punched the boy square in the nose. The boy just kept smiling even as the blood dripped down his chin, staining his skin with crimson. The boy kept smiling, eyes twinkling happily.

Harry was sent to the nurse's office, still smiling.

Dudley was given detention.

It was the one time that the teacher had ever seen any type of emotion on his face. But now that she had seen it…his face almost seemed _too_ blank for it to be natural. It was unordinary the smoothness in his face, the nothingness that dwelt there, it was both disconcerting…and horrifying.

Soon the principle of the school had a meeting with the Dursleys' concerning their nephew's odd behavior. They said he was a bit traumatized having witnessed the death of his parents in an unfortunate car crash and had never been quite able to deal with…emotions after that. It would be better to ignore him completely. Soon after that, the teachers never said a word to him beyond casting him pitying looks and speaking in a very quiet, clear voice, "Do you need any help, Harry?"

As if he was a simpleton.

He was anything but.

* * *

><p>Petunia had never been sure whether Dumbledore realized how screwed up the freak really was. It was hard dealing with such a…quiet child. Dudley was always loud and demanding, complaining, never fearful of giving his opinion or showing his emotions. It was so much easier dealing with a screaming child than a child that refused to feel…anything. There was nothing there. Even when she screamed at him or threw pot pans at his head, he never showed disgust or hatred, nothing.<p>

They finally had enough. He was too quiet and crying would even be a relief than this quietness. Vernon had eventually decided that the belt had to have made some type of an impact. Instead Harry did not make a noise, merely stared deep into his uncle's eyes. There was such rawness in those emerald eyes, normally so carefully blank that it had burned through Aunt Petunia's heart. She had been against him from the beginning, and yet he could only show hatred towards his uncle. But never directed towards her. Sometimes he had shown mere indifference at times, perhaps there was some resentment, but…that was all.

Vernon did not touch Harry again. In fact, they both seemed determined to ignore the other. They just left him in his cupboard most of the time, much easier to discipline him. They took food from him, but no matter how hard they tried to make him show any emotion, going as far as making him do impossible tasks that had made his skin peel or was too high for him to reach. He never once complained, never once shown any emotion in his eyes but flatness.

They were scared.

They were also liars.

Harry hated liars.

* * *

><p>He had been seven when it had happened. He had suddenly appeared on the roof of the school, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. It was the closest emotion he allowed himself. He had been chased, and yet, he had ended up here. It wasn't as if he was going to resist their beatings either, he had just…popped away. Not understanding this, he banished the thought in the corner of his mind. It wasn't until a teacher saw him there, scolding him harshly that he finally allowed himself to relax. Harry would not remember that incident again.<p>

Petunia and Vernon on the other hand breathed a deep sigh of relief. For a long time, they had thought the boy hadn't inherited his parents'…freakiness. It was a godsend that they wouldn't have to explain that to those…people.

Harry's magic did not make another appearance until a few years later.

* * *

><p>Harry had known for quite some time that normal people did not converse with snakes. He also immediately knew that if he could, it must be the reason of why the Dursleys' talked of him as the freak. It did not ease his mind that his relatives considered him this type of <em>thing<em> that needed to be dealt with, and less so by the reason that perhaps they were correct. And so, he banished the incident in his mind growing colder and colder as more memories were put towards that corner.

The Dursleys' did not speak to him for several days, just giving him wide fearful glances. This was not what was supposed to happen. Petunia almost feared the moment when those other wizards came for her nephew. They would not expect a psychopath. Especially one that thought it was particularly "curious" to talk to snakes and have them attack their cousin's friend. She could not look in his face without shuddering. For some reason, a tiny smile would play across his lips.

Despite the snakes, it was at least amusing to torment his relatives.

"Dudley, get the mail." Vernon ordered, straightening his newspaper impatiently.

"Make Harry get it!" The boy replied in his whiny, unbearable voice.

"Harry." The one word was all he needed.

The boy stirred in his seat, emerald eyes blinking blankly before moving towards the door with quiet steps. He did not make a noise as he moved across the hallway. It was a surprise, however, that when he stooped to pick up the neatly piled letters that rested on their doormat, a letter written on thick paper fell out.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey,

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of parchment that had a yellowish hue and the address was written in green. When he flipped over the envelope, a purple seal bearing a coat of arms with a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter _H. _For a brief moment, so brief it was nearly unnoticeable, he allowed his surprise and amazement come through.

_No one had ever written to me._ Immediately his eyes narrowed, a bright flair of red tinting the green in his eyes. _It's probably just a scam._

"Hurry it up, boy!" Vernon hollered and he could just picture the look in his uncle's face, purpling and disgusting as the pig he was.

"Yes, Uncle." He said dully.

Unthinkingly, he handed him the package of letters, not even minding the letter addressed to him, assured that whoever had written to him probably was not in the least important. After all, there was no one he'd want to write to, and there was no one that would write to him.

"P-Petunia!" the ugly pig's stutter was startling, especially the vast amount of colors that Vernon could change in such a short amount of time. It was…rather amusing. It became less amusing when Petunia gasped loudly and appeared to be choking herself.

"What will we do!" she whispered, horrified.

For a brief moment their eyes connected, silently communicating like all adults that had been married so long they could almost tell from the expressions on their face what they were thinking. Petunia's mouth turned sour, that horrible expressive when it looked like she was sucking on a lemon.

"Both of you get out." Vernon's voice was surprisingly calm despite the beads of sweat clinging to his forehead.

Dudley made an enraged sound, "But I want to know what's going on!"

Surprisingly, Harry quickly moved toward his cupboard, knowing that any discussion they likely would have could easily be heard from there. It wasn't as if they were the quietest people in the world either. It probably would lead to a shouting match.

* * *

><p>The next morning Harry was moved to the Dudley's second bedroom, sincerely abiding his cupboard adieu before welcoming this new experience. He was given his own room. Despite his happiness, nothing had shown on his face. Although, it was fairly amusing to hear Vernon mumble to himself about, "Stalkers, watching the house! They know everything! Cupboard under the stairs!"<p>

It came as a vindictive satisfaction that whoever had written, at least some good had come out of it. But now, he was unbearable curious about the letter and whoever had written it. There was just a brief touch of gratitude for at least making such a positive change in his life, even if it meant very little to him.

So it came as a surprise when three letters arrived in the mail slot that day, even more shocking the six that arrived the next day. Soon, he lost count of how many letters had shown up. His relatives were going berserk. And yet, even with some idle curiosity, he felt no inclination to even try to open those letters. Apparently it had made the Dursleys' quite happy with him.

After all, curiosity killed the cat, and he wanted to avoid that.

* * *

><p>Vernon had gone mad.<p>

This was agreed by the entire family, including surprisingly Petunia. Driving them out in the middle of a lake with a small hut, without electricity, without proper bedding or even proper meals. Yes, he had gone quite mad. It was his undoing when the desk clerk at the motel had said that there was a hundred letters for one Mr. H. Potter.

_Even if the letters are a bit annoyed, you have to give whoever had written these letters some respect. Few people would be this persistent._

It was nearing midnight when he heard the oddest noise. It sounded vaguely like a gunshot.

"Who shot the cannon!" Dudley mumbled, stumbling out of his bed. Footsteps were heard overhead as Vernon and Petunia hurried down the stairs, Vernon carrying a rifle while Petunia clenched her neck.

_Boom!_

_Boom!_

The door crashed down with a _bang_ and the outline of a giant stood before him. Despite himself, he quickly shot the memory into the corner of his mine. This was just bizarre.

A man with glinting beetle-like eyes, face covered in a straggly beard and wild hair, walked through the now empty space where the door had been. The man was gigantic and easily towered over Vernon, which was no easy feat. Turning around he picked up the door and fitted it easily back in its frame. His head just brushed against the ceiling and this was when the man was stooping down.

"Couldn't make a cup o' tea, couldn't yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" the stranger strolled towards the sofa where Dudley was sitting. "Budge up, yeh great lump." the giant grumbled.

Dudley squeaked, running to hide behind his mother, who was crouching behind Vernon.

"An' here's Harry!" the giant boomed.

Harry's eyebrow curved slightly, amused.

The beetle eyes crinkled into a smile. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant, "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, buy yeh've got yer mom's eyes.

Uncle Vernon made an odd rasping noise in the back of his throat. It sounded like he was choking. How…interesting.

Harry, decided, that he rather liked the giant despite it's rather poor manners. Hagrid, as he was called, was actually stunningly nice, almost…unbelievably so. The cake, the sausages, just the oddness of this person was greatly refreshing even if it was someone so…off-putting, since nice wasn't exactly a common occurrence. Despite that, he had no reason why he had to doubt the giant. After all, his relatives had lied to him.

_A wizard._ The thought brought chills to his spine. Even as the giant settled down, apparently they were going to shop for his school supplies the next day. Harry couldn't help but feel some slight respect build inside him. It didn't help the fact that Hagrid had given him his first birthday cake, (he had almost forgotten his birthday,) he would have to be extra cautious around this one. It was…a bit odd though knowing that his parents had been murdered instead of dying in a drunken accident. The thought brought some measure of gratitude but he couldn't bring himself to feel grief or sorrow. Perhaps there was some acknowledgement that they had died against the most feared wizard in history. But there was no sadness or remorse.

Hagrid did not notice.

Harry did not care what had happened to his parents, even though there was some part of him that had always known.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, forcing his mind to relax and not put anything in that little corner that was steadily growing.

* * *

><p>It was a bit odd arriving at Diagon Alley, which was a spectacular place. Considering all the information he had acquired from Hagrid, it seemed Wizards seemed quite odd. The fact that the non-magical people were considered muggles, but considering his relatives, it nearly made sense. It sounded a bit degrading, not that he had minded of course.<p>

The annoyance though was how recognizable he was. He was used to blending in the background, being ignored or even disregarded, but suddenly having someone shake your hand repeatedly and whisper, point, and stare at him was getting to be tiresome. Especially the idiot that had kept on getting in line to shake hands with him, who he vaguely remembered from an odd moment when he had bowed to him at the supermarket. The Professor he had met was especially odd, especially the tingle he had felt when their hands had met. It was…unpleasant.

Keeping a carefully blank face was considerably easier as they moved from shop to shop. It became popular news that the boy-who-lived was visiting Diagon alley and so he had been peered at, pestered, and poked from several different people that day.

The goblins were the most amusing.

The warning in the front of the building was perhaps the most interesting in the world. It gave a certain amount of respect to the goblins, and from their generally displeased expressions their job was most taxing. Considering from what he knew so far of the Wizarding World, he understood. What was incredibly interesting was that there were more than a hundred goblins in Gringotts.

"Morning," Hagrid said to a goblin, "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," Hagrid preceded to empty his pockets onto the counter, scattering knickknacks, foods, and other meaningless items. The goblin wrinkled its nose and Harry couldn't help but let his lips twitch, after all, no one was looking at him.

"There yer go!" Hagrid pulled out a tiny golden key.

Harry's insides melted and a fury welled up inside him. _How dare he steal from me! That is my key._ Despite that, he said not a word. The only thing that had clearly shown his displeasure was the narrowed eyes and the pounding in his head. It hurt.

The goblin examined it very carefully before, almost reluctantly, nodded. "That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid puffed up his chest, looking ridiculous despite the attempt at looking important. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin looked at the letter carefully, muttering unhappily. "Very well." He said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!" and yet another goblin appeared…how thrilling.

Despite the slight curiosity about Hagrid's appalling attempt at keeping something secret, it was rather exciting with the cart and how fast it went, and how sick the giant had looked. Finding out he was rich was perhaps the most unusual moment in his life. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut and had left him lying on the ground. He had lived off of Dursleys' scraps and he had found out that the Wizarding World owed him a debt by killing Voldemort, and he had also been denied what was rightfully his money? It seemed rather stupid.

It was a bit exciting though when the glow of fire and a roar sounded in the tunnel though, the cart going faster and faster and despite himself, he allowed his eyes to fall wide open as he forced himself to keep watching, also the rather green color that had decorated the giant's face.

It was the pointy boy that had really started working on his nerves. Perhaps if he had paid more attention, the boy would have realized that Harry's anger was not directed at that "big oaf standing at the window. I heard he was a _savage. _Always getting drunk and trying to do magic, usually setting a fire to his bed."

"He's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts," was the short reply. After all, despite Hagrid's appalling manners, at least he wasn't a snot-nosed brat that didn't know when to keep their mouth shut. "I think he's brilliant." Harry said coldly, eyes narrowing with anger.

"_Do _you?" the boy asked, sneering. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

A rather malicious smile curled at the ends of his mouth and he could feel Madam Malkin working steadily faster, a frown on her face. "Dead." It was barely breathed.

The boy didn't even turn towards him. "Oh, sorry. But they were _our _kind, weren't they?"

It was starting to become ridiculous. It was fine when he didn't know whatever that stuff the pointy boy was sprouting but _this_ was becoming unbearable. "They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." With a cold sneer, he turned to Madam Malkin. Hiding his irritated look, she seemed to be in agreement with him.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same. They've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

Gritting his teeth painfully and resisting the urge to thoroughly _hurt_ this boy, Madam Malkin said, "There you are, my dear." Giving the brat one last dark glance, which the boy did not see, Harry hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the blond boy.

Harry's fingers itched to grab that scrawny neck. As he ate the ice cream, chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts, his dark glares didn't go unnoticed.

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing…" They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered up when he found a quill that wrote in ink that looked identically like blood, it wouldn't surprise him if he found out it was _actually _blood. He still said nothing about the pale, pointy boy in Madam Malkin's shop, and yet, the feeling of anger and hatred still wouldn't leave his itchy skin.

Chatting with Hagrid was a bit different. It wasn't exactly like talking to an adult, but more of someone that was actually just a really giant kid. Mostly annoying but a bit refreshing. After all, it was better than being ignored. He was a bit impressed though when Hagrid explained a few important things that he'd need to know before going to Hogwarts.

"Hagrid," Harry's voice was quiet, but it easily pulled the giant's attention away from some meaningless gossip. "What are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

Hagrid tilted his head to the side, a curious glint sparking in his beetle like eyes. "School Houses. There are four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," Hagrid said darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

Obviously, the wizards' stupidity extended far behind making a brick wall into an entryway and their silly comments. Honestly, a house full of children couldn't possibly be…evil. "Voldemort," he said, sneering slightly at Hagrid's flinch, "was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," was the reply.

"Interesting…" ignoring the confusion still shining in the giant's face, Harry smiled dimly. Instantly his companion's face cleared.

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in a leather; books the size of stamps, books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who had never read anything, would have been at least partially interested in these. It wasn't as if he could read that well in the first place. Hagrid had to drag Harry away from_ Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue –Tying and Much, Much More,)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I wished to curse Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid, ignoring the darkness gathering at Harry's brow. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more stuffy before yeh get ter that level."

_H-how dare he say that! Of course I can do it! I am a wizard. It isn't as if the study makes the wizard._

It was then when Harry found what he was looking for. It was sitting precariously at the top of one of the shelves. An old dusty book that looked like it was older than Hagrid, but it was what he was looking for. _Ancient Traditions and Customs (including the Noteworthy Wizarding Families,) _by Hogwarts Headmaster Walter Aragon, the book was perfect. It would give him the information needed to make up for the lack of education that the boy was talking about and it was very likely there were at least some things inside this book that would help somewhat.

"Hagrid, could I get this book?" Harry's question wasn't really a question (it was his money!) but the gamekeeper seemed determined to buy everything on the list and nothing extra.

With a furrowed frown, the giant looked more worried than he should be. "I suppose…"

Giving a small, self-satisfied grin, he placed it in on top of the stack of books Hagrid was carrying. "Thank you," he said for politeness sake.

Although he missed out on the golden cauldron, ("it says pewter on yer list", but they got a set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they went to the Apothecary, which was about as fascinating as his book, it made up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. There were barrels of slimy stuff that stood on the floors; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls, there was much more than that too! While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes, (five Knuts a scoop). It was eerie how similar they looked to the giant's eyes.

Once that was over, Hagrid stood scanning Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left – oh yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Scowling at the thought of _any_ type of charity, even from someone that had been as nice as Hagrid, "There is no need for a –."

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at – an' I don' like cats, and they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Although Harry would have rather had a cat than an owl, after all, who would he send letters to? The Dursleys? Unlikely. A cat would have been much preferable. However, twenty minutes later they left Eeylops Owl emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. It was the most beautiful animal he had ever seen, and he had been rather surprised by her intense stare. The storeowner had been rather surprised at his choice. Apparently she had been the most difficult owl to sell, despite her beauty. She was quite picky.

"Thank you…" he said for the hundredth time.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly, blushing. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

_A magic wand…_the thought gave him chills. It probably was the one thing he had truly looked forward to.

The shop was narrow and shabby, with peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tingling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place; empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he was quiet although questions kept popping inside his head and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice whispered. Harry twisted his head, eyes narrowing at the sound. Hagrid must have jumped though, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Good afternoon, sir." Harry said, unblinking. The man's moon-like eyes still stared.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry, eyes unblinking. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

The man had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose-to-nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…" Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. Harry's teeth bared themselves, a feral growl rising in his throat. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid. Harry did not bother to listen to him until the giant gripped his pink umbrella tightly.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a searching look. "Well now – Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of a hidden pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Right," which was the short answer.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tails feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivanders wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

The tape measure was obviously enchanted somehow as it was measuring him without Ollivander. The shop-owner kept flitting between and around the shelves, taking down boxes and muttering underneath his breath.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled to the ground. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry tried, raising a sardonic eyebrow, but he hardly raised the wand when it was snatched back.

"No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, and try it out.

_Wizards are such strange people. _Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for but it was certainly not the pathetic reactions that he was getting from each wand he had tried. The pile of wands he had already tried was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh?" The man was a creep. "Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now –yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. It still…didn't feel right. Like somehow, something was missing. It felt like…like…

Like when you have your favorite shirt and you aren't wearing it…

Like something was lost…

Disappointed, he barely heard Hagrid whooping and clapping while Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

"Sir," Harry said as Ollivander took the wand back and into its box, wrapping it in brown paper, muttering to himself, "This is not my wand."

The entire store went still, two pairs of eyes whirling around to face him. Two silver moon eyes blinked in surprise. The giant looked like someone had just stolen his most precious treasure.

"Of course it is your wand! It is very curious that you'd be destined for this wand, very curious indeed, when the brother of this wand gave you that scar. You see, the phoenix had given two feathers, one that belonged to that wand and the other…well…the other…you know what happened to the other." He gave a sort of wry smile. "Curious, that the wand chooses the wizard…remember. I expect great things from you, Mr. Potter, great things indeed. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things…terrible, yes, but great."

Harry did not like Mr. Ollivander, even if he was the most interesting wizard he had met. He paid seven Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them out of the shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap. He couldn't help but let her stay. She was such a pretty thing. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station, Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder. Giving him a glare, which clearly said, "do not touch me or I'll bite your hand off."

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry ignored everything except for his burger.

"Yer very quiet." Hagrid commented, unnecessarily. Sighing softly, "Ya do know that the wand don' make the wizard, Harry." He said seriously, staring straight into his eyes. "It don' matter a difference ter me whether yer wand was the brother of You-Know-Who, it don' make a difference." Giving a rather too-large smile, he sat back to eat his own food.

"Thank you, Hagrid." He said sincerely, but a thought strayed from his mind. _He had said that all Slytherins, not one from that house had ever turned into a light wizard, they were all dark. All evil…_

_He is wrong…it does matter._

Closing his eyes briefly, he let the thought push into the corner of his mind.

Hagrid helped Harry on to the train that would take him back to the Dursleys, then handed him an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he said. "First o' September – King's Cross – it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, and send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me…. See yeh soon, Harry."

The train pulled out of the station. Harry watched Hagrid until he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but blinked and Hagrid had gone.

He would be going back to the Dursleys.

How awful.

But it could have been worse. The Dursleys may be one of the most idiotic people in the world, but they would never physically harm him, especially with a threat hanging over their heads.

Dimly, he smiled.

A/N Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! If you see any mistakes, please tell me immediately! I only had someone read over this to correct any of the obvious mistakes but I didn't have someone truly edit. Criticism is always welcomed! Thank you so much! Another is that Hogwarts Headmaster Walter Aragon appears to actually be a person in the Harry Potter universe since I found him by looking up names in Harry Potter. I think he didn't have a particularly interesting life.


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